Sherlock's room
by TheWalrusAndThePenguin
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to find that John's been sleeping in his room for the past 3 years.


_A/N: I haven't posted here in ages, but Reichenbach prompted me to write several Sherlock fanfics so here we go. I've only posted Bones fics before, but Sherlock has taken over as my favourite show - favourite anything really. Hope you like it!_

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><p>"I can't deal with this right now," John found himself yelling. "Three years, Sherlock. Three years! I just…I can't deal with you right now."<p>

Sherlock looked at John, mid-way through explaining why he had to fake his own death. It was clear the doctor had lost weight and by dark circles underneath his eyes, it seemed that he hadn't been sleeping.

"John, please let me explain," Sherlock said, but John just held up a hand, closing his eyes briefly, trying desperately not to look at the detective.

"No, I'm going to bed, I'll deal with you in the morning," John mumbled before stepping forward towards Sherlock's bedroom. It was only one step before John caught himself and stopped, shooting a glance to Sherlock to see if he'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed.

"John?" Sherlock said quietly, narrowing his eyes and looking to his old bedroom.

"Sherlock, no!" John reached out to grab the detective's arm as he turned to walk to his old room. Sherlock easily shrugged out of John's grip and walked to the doorway, switching on the light.

John sighed and hung his head. It didn't take the worlds only consulting detective to realise what was going on. John's pyjama shirt and shorts were still on the end of the unmade bed from when he'd changed that morning. His jeans and various other pieces of clothing were strewn around the room. His reading glasses were sitting on the bedside table next to a novel, which was still open, face down on the table.

"John, I…" Sherlock spoke before cutting himself off. "You've been sleeping in my room?"

John swallowed loudly and fell back against the wall behind him, purposefully looking away from the detective as his eyes welled up with the emotions he'd been keeping to himself for the past three years.

He felt Sherlock's hand on his chin, gently tipping his face to meet his. John closed his eyes, refusing to look at the detective. Before he knew what was happening he felt long arms wind around his shoulders and pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and buried his hands into the thick coat, clutching desperately to the man he'd thought was dead. He didn't realise he was crying until he drew in a ragged breath and felt one of Sherlock's hands bury into his hair and pull his head to the detective's chest.

"You left me, you bastard," John said, his words muffled against Sherlock's coat.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock replied quietly.

"I don't forgive you," John said. Sherlock chuckled and John nearly sobbed at the feeling of Sherlock's chest moving with his laughter, the feeling of how _alive_ he was.

Sherlock slowly pulled back, looking down at John's red eyes and taking one of his hands in his own.

"You're tired," Sherlock said, pulling John into his bedroom. John didn't bother to object; Sherlock was right, he _was_ tired. They both fell back onto the bed, John still wearing his work clothes and Sherlock still in his coat. Sherlock rested his head against the pillows, pulling John to him.

"I missed you," John whispered, burying his face into Sherlock's shoulder.

"I know, I got your texts," Sherlock replied. John sighed contentedly at the deep baritone of the voice he's missed so much.

"Keep talking," John said sleepily.

"About what?" Sherlock asked, surprised by the request.

"I don't care. Anything. Everything."

"Okay," Sherlock said and he did what he does best. He observed, he deduced. He began telling John what had changed in the flat, in his room in particular. He spoke about how John had changed, listed what clothing items were new and which were old. It was only when he began talking of John and how he'd lost weight when he saw that John had fallen asleep, purring softly against the detective's shoulder.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock whispered, softly kissing him on the forehead. "I missed you too."

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><p><em>I really hope you enjoyed it, I had fun writing it so let me know what you think. x<em>


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